Northern Planner

History of me in 100 objects - Object 6 - Howies Bryson Jeans

 
Object 7 in the The List is this pair of Howies Jeans. Selvedge Bryson to be precise.

I bought them about 5 years ago and still wear them every other day. This is partly down to lack of imagination and mostly because they fit like a glove. Jeans are a funny thing, finding ones that really fit well is hard and even then, there's the long process of wearing them in. These jeans are loose and low and sit just below the waist in a way others just don't.

But these jeans go beyond that. Selvedge jeans have a totally  different feel, but even more importantly, they have more story. They're made on shuttle looms and nod back to a time when more care and attention was paid to things. It also means they're bomb proof.These jeans will not die, which is a good thing since I don't know what I'll do when I have to find a replacement.

The thing about selvedge is that it has a raw look and feel when you buy it. It eventually goes and the jeans inexorably turn into a normal pair with every wash. The only way to preserve it is to not wash them. Which is what I did for about a year, until a friend's baby urinated on them. Sadly they had to go into the washer and the slow decline into averageness began. But they'll never be average.

I spent over £100 on these jeans. That's a lot of money and was even more to me 5 years ago. But I don't buy many clothes, and what I have I don't really get rid of. I'd rather buy less and buy well. That means ignoring fashion somewhat, or at least buying the kind of stuff that won't be outdated in 6 months time. It's not for everyone, but it's how I roll at least.

Finally, these jeans show how building meaning into things transforms how we value things. Don't let anyone tell you brands are worthless in the information rich, self actualised digital age. It's bollocks, or at least the argument in this book persuades me that way. It's the story of things and what we believe about them and what they mean to us that matters. Howies is  brand I've loved for years, because they care about the things I care about - rough fuzzy stuff around time rather than cash, realness over artificial stimulation and an overall aesthetic I kind of like. More importantly, they make an effort. Their catalogues used to be works of art themselves, meet the people and they live and breathe the company values.

Every stitch of these jeans is soaked in all this, along with my own story over the last five years. Like I say, thank God they're so durable. Finding a new pair will be tough

Object 6. Tea straining tea pot

Next in the pointless history of me in 100 objects is this:

 
I'm something of a purist when it comes to tea - always made in a warmed pot, pou r the milk in the mug first etc. I'm also pretty loyal to my beloved Yorkshire Tea.

But my Grandmother, who instilled much of this ritualistic fetish wouldn't be proud of me. She always used leaves. She didn't care about the mess when you cleaned the pot and I can still see her now, with her little tea strainer over the cup, making sure no bits got in my drink. I loved her very much, she was so kind, never spent any money on herself, she saved it all for her daughter (my Mum) and us.

I remember there was always an aura of sadness and loneliness around her. She didn't want for friends, and she lived until she was 90 largely by keeping active. Charity shops, the over 60's club, she did it all. But her husband, her Fred,dies before I was born and despite living a full life, she always missed him terribly. And when she died, ten years ago now, I missed, and still miss her.

So in honour of her, I bought this teapot to do it properly. And it does taste better, but it's not just right. My Grandmother would have ignored the new fangled contraption in favour of a proper china pot and her tea strainer. And she's right, some improvements might make things more convenient, but they don't make things better.

So I'll be buying some more leaf tea, a proper strainer and every now and then, do it properly and raise my china cup to the memory of the kindest woman I ever knew.

Obects 5, Nike Air Tech Challenge

So the latest in My History through 100 Objects are trainers bought in around 1990, sadly long demised.

 
 

Apart from a, now sorted,  wobble over sweat shops etc I have an irrational love for this brand. Not as a strategist mind, but as an emotionally driven human being. In fact, locically, all planners should be immune to brands, since we're supposed to know how they work, but we fall their irrational lure because we're still people with a deep need to construct and share our identity like everybody else.

Walk into any boutique agency and look at the sea of check shirts and thick rimmed glasses if you don't believe me.

Anyway.

I remember at school,it must have been around 1988, everyone had Nike Air Pegasus, but I can't say I was particularly interested until I saw this ad.

 

I loved playing tennis but hated the culture that went with it in the UK.

Juniors should be seen and not heard.

We encourage you to wear white.

Does your face fit?

It's not polite to want to win.

Rules. Conformity. A bastion of middle class. I was brought up in a 'well to do' market town. Naturally I hated it.

That ad was everything I wanted in tennis. So I saved the money I earned from working in our local sports shop on weekends and bought a pair of 'Hot Lava' trainers.

Horrifically gharish and ugly. That was the point. And yes, I know how quaint it sounds, little middle class boy thinks he's a rebel buying trainers. It is silly, but brands are silly, they're irrational.

Somewhere in my subconscious, I've never forgotten how that felt and it's only been enforced by over 20 years of other ads and stuff. Despite demonstrating a rebelious streak by opening my mouth these days, rather than uniform, I still only buy Nike, anything else just wouldn't feel right.

By the way, if you know where I can get a pair of these trainers again, let me know, I'm going through some sort of grasping at youth retro thing (that's an invite for spam comments if there ever was one).

 

Pants - Object 4

I've been spoiled recently, manging to dodge staying away from home too much. So I'm out of practice at the kind of military precision required to pack for a couple of days away in 10 minutes - you know, big project, finishing in the small hours, getting up at the crack of dawn, that kind of thing.

So it was with a mixture of woeful acceptance and tired frustration how I took the news I'd forgotten to pack underwear and socks. 

Now I'm a simple fellow and can make do with all sorts of hardships, I've even been known to drink tea from a machine. But I can't do a two day workshop in the same socks and pants.

So what were the options at 1am in Windsor? Just the one, Tesco 24 hour. But this pointles story doesn't reach a happy resolution.

Shower gel and deodorant...tick (forgot them too). Decent socks...tick. Pants? The only ones Tesco had in my size were these...

 
It was bad enough to be lurking around the health and beauty along with underwear sections of Tesco in the small hours with my long suffering account director (he had to pay, I'd forgotten my wallet too).

But to shell out for these monstrosities was hard to take. I swear I performed a little less well thanks to the knowledge I was wearing these mini deck chairs.

Mrs Northern thought they were hilarious, but you know what? I'm becoming quite fond of them now, what do you think?

Anyway, yet another example of the crushing absent mindedness and comedy of errors that is my life. Ask to me write your briefs and tell you new stuff about how housewives eat biscuits, don't ever ask me to pack for you, or anything that requires organisation in 'real life'.

Object 5 Kia Rio

 

For a little while I owned a second hand Alfa Romeo. It was a wonderfully frustrating little bastard - lovely drive, sexy etc, but you knew it's reliability was as trustworthy as a National Enquirer headline. Alfa owners say that's part if the experience but I was never one for masochism.

To be honest, I never felt comfortable in it. They say you need to see yourself in a car and we never really fit. This was all va va voom, brash self confidence, sexy curves and intense passion. I'm just an odd looking bloke, with a slight stammer, no hair and worrying obsession with tea.

I guess it's a bit like buying the kind of suit a suave, sophisticated player would wear, only to look in the mirror and seeing a crushingly ordinary person looking slightly more daft than usual.

So I got rid of it and bought a second hand Kia Rio (the one in the picture isn't THE one but looks identical). To be honest, there was an ulterior motive, I needed cash for something or other and quick, but it wasn't a struggle to make the swap, quite the opposite.

I owned that car for four years, I did 100,000 miles in  it, with virtually no problems. It took me over the Pennines to Manchester every day. It never let me down. But more than that, I loved what people said about it.

So many people couldn't understand why I wasn't embarrased owning this clunky, Korean monstrosity. Many laughed, it became something of an in-joke. But I didn't mind that, in fact I loved it.

On one level, that car represented me beginning to care a lot less about what the things I owned said about me, and being far more bothered about what I did. If people judge me by how I look, or by owning the right labels, symbols or whatever else, I say balls to them.

Put another way, that car is about becoming comfortable in your own skin and coming to terms with who you are rather twhat others want or what you've deluded yourself into.

That's important for surviving in this industry, especially as a planner. A big ego gets in the way.

On a more general level, I don't care where you've worked, what you've done and who you know. I have no interest in what people wear, only what they can do and what they're interested in.

It's better to ignore what the cognoscenti will think about your work, only what the client thinks and not even that really.....the people you're trying to sell things to. That's why I go into orbit when people slag off Try Something New Today as not that creatively exciting. Bollocks, it does the job it's supposed to do and then some. It's genuinely useful to the people it's aimed at and cares about what they care about. I say that's good and if some git in skinny jeans and converse doesn't get that, well good, there's more space for people who want to be good rather than cool.

Anyway, eventually the Kia died and had to be replaced by a Honda Civic. I love that car too, but not in the way I loved my little, modest, shambolic Kia.

Object 4 Bamboo pen and tablet

So this is next on the list.

In case you don't know, you can a pen instead of a mouse, a pad and software to stick your handwriting on documents and stuff.

It's not earth shattering, but after suffering death by powerpoint a zillion times I refuse to put others through it and this looks a little more interesting, along with forcing me to to write in simple headlines. Which, in turn, forces you to write the narrative for a presentation first rather than just write blurb.

On a deeper level, it satisfies a need to not do everything in the sodding corporate template, which in turn is about wanting to be a little more free. I've never been one to just fit in, my slight rebellious streak has made things a little difficult at times.

Anyway, I've always hankered after doing artier things. As I once mentioned, I loved doing art and was stopped in my tracks my a disagreeable teacher. I can't shake the need to express myself though, probably never will. I guess that's one of the reasons for this blog, and why I'm not bothered about the fact no one reads it anymore, that's not what it's for (and it's not very arty).

Object 3

Next on the list is this:

 
First decent album I ever bought and the start of an enduring love affair with the diminutive little musical imp. You can call him a wierdo, you can call him a self absorbed fool and you would probably be right. You can even claim he hasn't done anything really good since around 1988 - you would be wrong.

As far as I'm concerned, you cannot claim he isn't a genius. In an amazing run starting with this album in 1983 and ending with, in view, anyway, the Batman soundtrack in 1989, produced a series of groundbreaking albums of which we haven't heard the like before or after. As a solo artist, perhaps only David Bowie had a collection of consistent work to compare.

There was a time when I couldn't wait for the next Prince album to come out and would vigorously defend his music in all sorts of argument, usually with people who couldn't see past HIM.

So while tape shows I grew up in an analogue world, it also represents how you should never confuse a person with their work. Prince as a person falls far short, as a musician, he's incredible.

Object 2: Speedos

Obvious one really if you follow this blog with any resemblance of regularity. These particular Speedos are the ones I'm using now. Most people couldn't give a monkey's about what they wear to swim in but not me, it matters (most blokes I mean, if you've ever been with a woman shopping for a bikini you'll know this is far from a 'low interest' purchase').

Of course it really mattered when I was a kid swimming competitively. The difference between winning or losing is a few hundredths of a second, missed timing on a turn, not reacting quick enough to the starting gun; it all matters and you don't want anything creating more friction in the water. So men wear condom like swim caps on their head to cover hair, or shave it off, they also remove hair on their bodies (growback is a killer!) and swim trunks are as light and skimpy as possible. These days it's gone a bit too far, with body suits that cut through the water better than skin, with some actually banned, but is those days there was no such thing.

I needed lots of pairs of trunks too. On an a weekend swim meet you usually did lots of events, not just you best one. And in each case, that meant a heat and (hopefully) a final, requiring on average six pairs per day, plus one for the warm up. I used to pick specific trunks for warm ups, usually old ones, some decent, not too tight ones for heats and then a selection of 'lucky' trunks for finals. The ones in the finals were usually a size too small for maximum effect, which was damned uncomfortable, but rituals are rituals. Along with never putting goggle lenses on all at once, left always before right and splashing myself with water before the race.

Back then, people wore skimpy speedos to the beach and for leisure swimming but these days you're either German or an idiot if you do that and don't care about social death. Swim trunks are really baggy shorts.

That was the same for me for years too. After packing in competitive swimming at 15 and any form or racing and hardcore training after university, I only 'kept my hand in' for years. After starting training when I was 7, that was swimming every day for 8 years, with a few holiday breaks. I had lost my appreciation for it all to be honest and got into rowing, running, tennis and gym stuff. I never lost the addiction to joy and pain you get with sport, it just took other forms. So less swimming called for less serious swimwear.

Then I decided in around 2006 to find out what I could do. It was sparked by my nephews who were getting really good and swimming for Cornwall and wanting to do something useful for ChildLine, so I pledged to train like a madman until I was able to swim 100 metres in under a minute, something I hadn't done since I was 15.

I expected it to be a short term fad, but I ended up loving it again. There's nothing like the joy in doing something really well, not to mention the natural high that comes from pushing through the pain barrier, it's zen like, it's 'flow'. So I got addicted again. And serious swimming, means serious swimwear. So I some skimpy Speedos, I'm on my third pair sincd then. I only need one pair at a time now, of course.

At the pool in my gym, one can feel a little self conscious between the changing rooms and the water, but not once I get swimming. I'm  clumsy person, I've no idea how I play okay tennis or Rugby, but when I'm in the water everything feels right.

There's no embarrassment at the John Charles Centre every Saturday at 7am where I go to train with other oldies for two hours of pain and suffering. Swimming taught me a lot, about all sorts of things and probably most importantly, no matter how hard things get, no matter how hard it becomes, keep going. Nothing really worth it if you don't have to try.

Also, uniforms matter. Psychologically, what you wear affects how you feel and how you perform. So wearing trunks matters in exactly the same way a great suit can transform a man's confidence or the way the rituals of getting ready are as important to going out for a woman as actually going out. A 37 year old man looks laughable in Speedos, but no one laughs once he starts cutting through the water.

Object 1: Manpurse

In recent history, the average British male needed only two things when he left the house; wallet and keys. Latter days have seen the phone added to the list, but still, the wallet is important.

For the average bloke, a simple, thin leather wallet suffices to store his cash, cards and other bits and bobs. But not me. I have an impractical and, according some, overly effeminate manpurse because it is too big to lose.

 

That's right, what this object represents most is my chronic absent mindedness. The only reason I'm in any way organised for work is, in part, thanks to suits who don't let me get lost or forget things, but mostly down to herculean effort and making lists;to do lists, what not to forget lists, boards packed with post-it notes and meticulous attention paid to paper and online diaries. All the energy that goes into paying attention in paid employment leaves little left for personal life.

Highlights include losing my car keys and finding them in the washing up bowl (after paying hundreds for a new lock and set or keys), forgetting to pick up an ex girlfriend from the airport, a TBWA record for losing mobile phones, coming to work in odd shoes and leaving hundreds of pounds worth of sports equipment, clothing and accessories in gyms, swimming pools and other athletic establishments accross the globe. On average, I buy two pairs of swim goggles per month.

Before I owned the man-purse, I went through about three wallets a year, with the chronic inconvenience that comes with that; reporting lost cards, actually having to queue in physical bank to withdraw real, paper money from a human being, a new gym membership card, lost expenses receipts. Eventually I had to choose the nuclear option and bought the biggest wallet I could find, this brick sized monstrosity, along with the added birch-like punishment of resembling a female clutch bag, according to certain uncharitable friends and colleagues.

I bought it in 1999, when I was living in Newcastle and working at my first agency, as a (not very good) account executive, just about surviving the creative bullies, the studio animals and the overiding traditional, boorish male culture. Reminds me that you need to move around before you find a culture that fits, this wasn't it. I became very unhappy, but you have to start somewhere. It showed me the kind of place I didn't want to work at and started the slow realisation that I was a thinker rather than a doer, despite not even knowing there was such a thing as planner. 

 

The manpurse reminds me of those times every now and then. Single, broke, naive, in a flat share in Jesmond, conveniently opposite the pub, living for those weekend nights out on the Quayside, rowing on Wednesday mornings in Durham, Millennium New Years Eve in Hamburg and a long distance relationship with a girl from Burton on Trent who broke my heart.

So this object is a recognition of chronic weakness, but also a portal back into a time that was character forming but tremendous fun.Looking back at the person who bought the manpurse, I can only cringe with embarrassment, but there you go.

A history of me in 100 objects

I got the book of A History of the World in 100 objects for Christmas (you should listen to some of the broadcasts here).

As is explained in Daniel Miller's the Comfort of Things  'things' are much more than 'objects', they serve as a repository for our memories and experiences, helping is construct our identity and organise our lives, imbued with our hopes, fears and passions, each one tells a richly evocative story about the time it lived in and the person who owned it.

So I'm going to experiment and start blogging about 'A History of Me in 100 objects'. Don't know how it will turn out, I can't imagine anyone will find it interesting but it makes a change from tea and swimming I suppose.